


John in Sherlock's Coat

by mistyzeo



Series: Holiday Ficlets 2010 [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for <a href="http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://veronamay.livejournal.com/"><b>veronamay</b></a> (unbeta'd, short, slightly schmoopy and self-indulgent)</p>
            </blockquote>





	John in Sherlock's Coat

John's sitting on the sofa watching telly when Sherlock comes in from his bedroom on Saturday. That's perfectly normal in itself—he's got his tea and toast on his knees and the news turned up a little higher than necessary in a way that makes Sherlock think he's slightly deaf on one side from Afghanistan and hasn't actually noticed it yet—what's unusual is Sherlock's coat draped around his shoulders, the collar popped up to his ears.

He doesn't ask. He just flops down on the sofa beside him, reading the situation. John jumps at his unannounced appearance, but he hands over a piece of toast when Sherlock grabs for it, and he gives Sherlock's knee a little friendly squeeze when he leans over again to pick up his mug.

It snowed last night, the news alerts them. Sherlock doubts anyone _needed_ to be told, since the whole city is blanketed and a mere glance out the window can inform even the least observant. The room is a little chilly, which means John hasn't turned up the heat, which means that John's worried about the utilities, which means he's lost a tidy sum at the bookmaker's again. He's wearing his jumper over the t-shirt he sleeps in, and wool socks, so he's not completely daft when it comes to the concept of layering.

"Why _my_ coat?" Sherlock asks finally, because there's always something.

"What?" John turns the telly down a notch.

"If you're cold," Sherlock says, "you could put on your own coat. Or stop going betting on the horses."

John winces, turning a little pink. He puts his plate on the coffee table and edges Sherlock's coat off his shoulders. "Sorry," he says.

"No," Sherlock says, stopping him with a hand on his back. "I don't mind, I'm just asking why."

"Why what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighs, long suffering. "Why _my_ coat. Why not yours? Yours fits you better."

John pauses, and pulls the coat back up around his ears. He's looking embarrassed, like Sherlock's caught him doing something he shouldn't, something he doesn't want Sherlock to know about. He fingers the collar and mumbles, "Smells like you."

Sherlock stares at him. He doesn't get it.

John rolls his eyes and swears fondly. "I like the way you smell, Sherlock. I put on the coat because it reminds me of you."

"But I'm right here."

"I know, you idiot," John says, his hand back on Sherlock's leg. "You were asleep though. Listen, it's romantic, trust me on this one."

"You think it'd be romantic if I wore your coat?" He's not derisive, just curious. He never thought of that.

"God no," John says, "It would never fit you." He beams, pats Sherlock's knee, and turns back to his toast, looking cosy and pleased with himself. Sherlock waits a moment to see if he's going to elaborate, realises he's being made fun of, and prods John hard in the side. John yelps and grabs at his hand through the wool of the coat, and Sherlock yanks him close and kisses him on the mouth. John's protest dies immediately, his body going pliant, and Sherlock wraps him in his coat and his arms and kisses him until the news story ends.


End file.
